


In Peace, Vigilence

by PinkAfroPuffs



Series: Here Lies the Abyss [2]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-29
Updated: 2019-01-29
Packaged: 2019-10-18 14:41:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,594
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17582804
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PinkAfroPuffs/pseuds/PinkAfroPuffs
Summary: They won't say it, but knowing how long the Inquisitor's list of fears is does surprise them. Still, it makes him more like a mortal and less put together. Hawke is grateful for it. At least she isn't the only one who fears her past, though for different reasons.





	In Peace, Vigilence

**Author's Note:**

> This one is short, actually. The last one is hard for me to write at the moment, so I hope I can finish it soon and it turns out at least something like what I want it to be.

_“And what are you afraid of, Inquisitor?”_

He wanted to ignore those sounds. He’d been through the Fade before, and none of those times were good or all too forgiving. For him to have been a mage and not a Dreamer, he surely had attracted his fair share of demons- enough to not be tempted by them anymore. Or so he liked to say. In truth, anyone could be beguiled by demons, and he knew that. It was why he was so forgiving about such things. It was why he was so hard on himself about them.

 _“I know your secret._ ”

Mamoru wanted to block his ears, but that might show weakness. That was certainly one of his fears, but he’d grappled with it a long time ago. Though strong enough to hold is own in a fist fight, or to lift a lady now and then, he was skinny and only good at magic. He’d never taken to firing a bow, and even now, in his mid-thirties, all he was good at was history and magic. And lying, of course. He always lied. Just never to other people.

_“What you are most afraid of would be difficult to say. There are so many things to choose from.”_

He wondered if the others could hear Corypheus saying that. A laugh almost escaped him when he realized that this, in itself, could be another fear. To have his fears exposed to the world. It felt good to laugh about it, like it was nothing serious.

( _Please, let me go with you.)_

A familiar voice, to be sure. He clutched his staff, pressing his lips together in an effort to keep going.

_“Hey, listen. Don’t make this harder.”_

His nails cut into his palms, eyes starting to water. Shit, he knew those voices. He hadn’t heard one of them in more than ten years, and it showed in the headache pulsing at his temples, his eyes on the ground.

_“Let me go with you. I don’t care if I die.”_

He had been younger, then. Foolish, even. At one time he’d considered going into the Deep Roads with him, Calling be damned, he would stay with him as long as it took to prolong their time together. He _remembered_ the expression he’d been given, that sorrowful, puppy-dog look that he’d loved so much and hated more than anything in the world.

 _“_ I _care if you die! Don’t be stupid about this._ ”

He could feel eyes on him. Whose, he did not know. Suddenly bile was rising up his throat, his eyes burning. The sound of Corypheus’ voice entered his ears again, teeth gnashing against each other in an effort to stay sane, repeating _I am not afraid_ to himself, so quiet that not even he could hear it.

 _And then he left you there,_ the whispers told him. _To greet the sunrise alone, with more than half your gear in his pack._ He waved the smoke away, frantic, desperate, but that did not stop them. Instead there was laughter. _Laughter._

_“Does it scare you to let them know, Inquisitor? That what you fear most is abandonment? How childish. A grown man with the fears of a little boy.”_

He was right. He was entirely right. Their fearless leader, afraid of losing his friends, his comrades, his lover. Afraid he wasn’t personable or interesting enough to keep people around for long. Afraid that he needed to be protected, and that protection meant being _alone_ . How silly. How _childish_. No wonder he hadn’t been able to face Josephine like a man, he was a child, all skin and bones, scraped knees and bruised cheeks from being picked on.

 _Breathe_. Where was the air? What was he breathing? It felt hot, itchy, sticky-

“Inquisitor,” it was the first time someone had spoken up since this torment had started, momentarily shaking him from reliving his nightmares, and he felt glad for it to be Hawke. He wondered if this was just her returning the favor. “Take a deep breath.”

Wide eyed, Mamoru turned his gaze to her. The sound of wood shakily scraping against the psuedo-floor reminded him of a shack ready to collapse in a rainstorm, though he wondered where it was coming from. What had he been here for again?

“Mamoru,” Hawke held her hands out to him, palms up, and then reached over to touch his hand. His eyes followed the gesture. That didn’t feel like his hand. Actually, it felt like nothing at all. He had been holding his staff so tightly his hands were going numb. “Take a deep breath. You can hear me, right? Breatheeeee in.”

He did so. The skin of his cheeks felt wet.

“Now let it aaaall go,” she gestured. He obeyed, nodding very slowly, and then Hawke’s hand settled on his shoulder. “We are going to get out of here. Don’t listen to what he says and don’t bother with his shit.”

“Easy for you to say,” he laughed weakly. “You aren’t the one being broadcast for the entire party to hear.” How silly. He was nearly forty and he still couldn’t stop himself from crying in front of other people. But the words did calm him. Grounded him, even. He was grateful that his eyes were finally dry and Hawke nodded at him, all six feet of her weakly approving.

“We’ll get through this.”

Right. They would. All of them.

“We’re here! There’s that big ol’ tear in the sky!” Hawke shouted, and some members of the party let out a collective sigh of relief. “All we’ve got to do is get up there or...something.”

“Maybe a ladder? Solas, you’re good at stacking,” he remembered their talk in his room, concerning his beautiful artwork on the ceiling, “got any ideas?”

Solas had been rather quiet this entire time- he guessed, considering what he knew about him, that Solas was taking in everything around him carefully, saying nothing only to take note for later- except to give tiny suggestions, or express how _clear_ everything looked. He did give Mamoru a very strange look, then, as though he wasn’t sure how to respond in kind. “I’m afraid I’ve left all my ladders at home, Inquisitor. We’ll have to get up to the Breach some other way.”

“Yeesh, alright,” he held up his hands. “We’ll figure it out without ladders.” It always bothered him when Solas got very serious, as though he teetered between being his father and his friend. As Mamoru was in his late thirties and still had his own father (a wonderful man, really) he wasn’t sure of how to feel about it.

The spirit of the Divine kept floating past them, setting up barriers to keep more demons than they could deal with at bay. The Inquisitor still wondered exactly what she was- a spirit of Compassion, maybe?- but it stood to reason that no one knew what life after death was like, especially if one died in the Fade.

Where would he go if he died in the Fade? Would his spirit just linger here? Or maybe he would end up at the very beginning again, somewhere he didn’t remember, or home.

Home…

The ear-splitting roar pulsed from beneath their feet into the air, knocking most of the available parties onto the ground- or at least grabbing onto something for support. Ground pulsing and parting before in their midst, a giant creature- twice the size of Hawke and the Iron Bull, to be sure- completely white and covered in fractured webs and a long, tattered cloak extended its hands to them, shrieking its high-pitched wail into the open air.

“Shit,” he started.

“Here we go,” groaned Varric.

“Be careful not to fear it, Inquisitor,” Solas squinted up at it, “it feeds off of nightmares. Best not to make it strong.”

“And _you’re_ not afraid?” He shouted, pressing his hands to his ears. “Creators preserve my hearing!” First it wanted to embarrass him, now it wanted to make him deaf? Piss. Without thinking about it, he extended his hand and an explosion set the creature’s skirts (robe? person?) ablaze.

“Time to dance, Bianca,” Varric notched an arrow.

Mamoru only grinned at him, readying his stance as he cast a protective barrier around them all. “And we haven’t even been to the ball yet!”

* * *

Mamoru’s skin was crawling. Jacket torn and his elbow bruised on one side, he breathed in, out, and then said, “It’s done.” The scorched ground paved the way to their rift. But he knew it was too easy. He knew something would go wrong.

That was why he didn’t even blink when an Abomination stumbled into their path, blocking their way. It smelled like garbage, and it was so close, yet so far from the party, that they knew that they needed to think of a way out of this mess, and fast.

“We might have a chance if someone stays.”

He hadn’t said it. When he glanced back to see the party who had spoken, he wasn’t surprised to see the war paint smeared across her nose, her eyes wide as she stared up at the beast through eyes one could only describe as tired. The scar on her cheek, marring her near flawless, dark skin, stopped just below one of her eyes, illuminated by the green of the Breach that peeked out from behind the monster; a thought struck Mamoru suddenly, staring at her with tear-streaked cheeks like his, hands clenched around her blade.

He could hear it. The hum of magic.


End file.
